


When the Time for Being Sad is Over

by WildnessBecomesYou



Series: Music is Not the Food of Love, but the Messenger [14]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, Smut, Songfic, crowley likes being a bottom change my mind, smut with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 18:27:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19382296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildnessBecomesYou/pseuds/WildnessBecomesYou
Summary: All you sinners stand up, sing hallelujah (hallelujah!)Show praise with your bodyStand up, sing hallelujah (hallelujah!)And if you can't stop shaking, lean backLet it move right through ya (hallelujah!)Say your prayersSay your prayersSay your prayers (Hallelujah!)This song is an excuse to write bits of smut.





	When the Time for Being Sad is Over

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah this is just smut to the tune of Hallelujah by Panic! at the Disco I'd say I'm sorry but I'm not

_Heavens_ , this was holy. 

Crowley shook beneath him, taut with wanting energy, begging for release, hands clawing at sheets. Aziraphale grinned and leaned down to taste the skin at the demon’s neck. He practically _wailed_ , one hand flying up to grip at Aziraphale’s arm.

He’d have marks there later. Crowley would feel bad about it, press kisses to the half-moons, and Aziraphale would relish both the touch and the possessive marks. 

He grinned against Crowley’s neck. Crowley whimpered. 

A noise worthy of praise. Halleluyah indeed. 

It had been weeks since the failed apocalypse. Aziraphale couldn’t remember every individual moment, but he knew his demon had stopped time, that Adam and his little gang had stopped the four horsemen, and that somehow the little antichrist had stopped Satan himself. 

And, yes, by then he had been inexorably tied up with Crowley. They’d been found out in the vaguest of ways. It set him alight; if Heaven _really_ wanted to know just what he was doing with a demon of Hell, Aziraphale had no problem showing them. In detail. 

(An excuse to finally let go, admit and confess, receive blessings from the holiest being.) 

Crowley gripped tighter against Aziraphale, then caught sight of what his fingers were doing to the angel’s arm. “Ss-ss-ssssorry,” he whimpered, stuttering over the sibilant. 

Aziraphale hummed in response, lifting a hand from Crowley’s hip to tighten Crowley’s hand around his arm. Crowley’s eyes widened, then nearly rolled back into his head. He let out a breath that seemed almost painful, and Aziraphale leaned forward with his next thrust to place a kiss to the center of his chest. 

And to think he’d tried to resist this.

At least he had failed. 

It had started with drinking, far too much drinking, on a night where reckless abandon seemed to make sense. Harsh words from the demon about holding back and fear and cowardice. Despite being right, Crowley had balked at his own words, sobered up immediately, and began apologizing. 

Aziraphale had decided to be brave, crashed their mouths together, mumbling “shut up, shut up, shut up” against his lips. Crowley had listened. He’d obeyed. Aziraphale had stopped pretending, lavished praise on the demon, watching as shame and self-hatred morphed into bewilderment and bliss. 

Crowley groaned under him again, throwing an arm over his eyes and arching up. Aziraphale reached up, tugging the arm away, meeting his eyes. “Let me see, let me see,” he breathed. Crowley stared back at him with wide eyes. 

Oh, _praise_ , a beautiful sight. 

Aziraphale knew this next act of life would be difficult. They both had scars to overcome, they both had fears, they had both lost certain things. But they also had each other— really, truly had each other, for the first time in six thousand years. 

That was really what Aziraphale cared about.

“Fuck!” 

Aziraphale smiled and Crowley’s curse turned into a keening sound. He leaned down, tracing his lips over Crowley’s collarbone, dragging teeth over the pointed ends. The demon looked like he was ready to shake apart. 

“Aziiiiii—“ he got caught on the spread vowel, hands flying to claw at Aziraphale’s back. “ _Pleasepleasepleaseplease!_ ”

Aziraphale grinned. He reached down to stroke Crowley and the demon somehow hissed and howled at the same time, bucking up into him. 

A few short strokes later, and Crowley was coming undone around Aziraphale, nails digging in, shaking out of control. 

His eyes met Aziraphale’s and the angel tumbled over the edge with him. 

_Halleluyah._

**Author's Note:**

> Aziraphale uses the "old" (Hebrew) version of Hallelujah, bc Azzy has trouble letting go of the past.
> 
> And it feels right that a love so old uses words so old.


End file.
